Never Ending Struggle

Four money-counting machines continued to scan streams of cash as three men sat on a black leather couch, unraveling money from plastic packages. On top of a large marble living-room table were several submachine guns along with extra clips. In addition to their security, a mammoth-sized rottweiler lay by the front door, where two men sat with shotguns, leaning against their chairs. Chicano ate lunch at his stash house’s kitchen table with a pistol next to his plate of lobster and steak. Naturally, his fiancée, Nina, sat across him, punching numbers in a calculator, sorting through inventory papers, sipping on a glass of wine. Briefly, she shook her head and sighed before saying, “AJ’s corner short ten thousand. How they short ten grand for two weeks in a row, what the hell they doing over there?” Forcefully Chicano slammed his fist on the table, wiped off his mouth with a napkin, picked up his cell phone, and hit speed dial. On the other end of the phone, his underboss sat in the back of a Maybach, smoking a cigar, being chauffeured across a bridge with boards in front and behind them, driving two black Chevrolet Suburbans. Looking over blue Carolina waters while whizzing past palm trees, he answered, “What’s going on? I thought we didn’t meet until two hours.” Chicano replied, “I’ve got a great story to tell you [I’ve got a problem to talk to you about].” His underboss replied, “Not another fucking story [not another fucking problem].” Chicano answered, “AJ won ten times, two weeks in a row [AJ is short ten grand, two weeks in a row].” “You want me to wish him well [you want me to put a hit on him]?” “He’s good luck, do it ASAP [he’s dead, do it ASAP],” Chicano replied before hanging up. Shortly afterward, Hector hit speed dial, still puffing a long cigar as he looked out of the window at a cruise ship passing the port of Miami. On the other end of the phone, a man sat in a second-story office, looking down at dancers in his club, entertaining customers, while music blasted and a strobe light flashed. “Hello,” he answered, standing next to a fish tank with a drink in his hand. “AJ’s on vacation. Now look, you can take a trip too if somebody else wins. I keep hearing great stories, he won ten time two weeks in a row. Now deal with it, or I’m going to come see you. Have a safe trip, just make sure AJ has a good vacation [AJ’s on the hit list, you can get put on it too if somebody else comes up short. I keep hearing problems, just make sure he’s hit today].” Before Rico could reply, Hector already hung up. “Shit,” he shouted before throwing down his cup, making it shatter. Quickly he went to his desk, picked up his phone, and hit speed dial. On the other end was a man at a South Beach penthouse, with a panoramic view of the Atlantic Ocean. Next to him, two men placed stickers on kilograms wrapped in white packages before putting them in a cardboard box. “Hello,” he answered. Rico asked, “I thought you were my right-hand man [I thought you were my lieutenant].” He replied, “Yes, sir, I am.” “How you let AJ win ten times two weeks in a row and not tell me? They’ve got him on vacation, and if somebody else wins and you don’t tell me, you’re going to be lucky too. Come see me tomorrow [AJ is short ten thousand two weeks in a row and you didn’t tell me. He’s dead. If anybody else on your end comes up short, you’re going to join him. Come see me tonight].” Before Kareem could reply, Rico hung up the phone. In a hurry, he dialed speed dial and stepped outside on the balcony. Finally, a voice on the other end answered. On the other end was a man standing in front of a shopping mall with his girlfriend weighed down by shopping bags, watching the valet bring him his car. “Hello?” he answered. “Don’t say nothing. Look, you supposed to be my little brother. You got till evening to wish AJ good luck. He won ten times two weeks in a row [you’re supposed to be my master sergeant, you got till this evening to kill AJ. He’s short ten grand two weeks in a row].” Without hesitation, Marlin hung up and speed-dialed his subordinates while driving off with his girlfriend. On the other end, a teenager wearing shades, smoking a cigarette by a corner store with his friends, answered the phone. “Yeah, what’s up?” “You’ve just been promoted. Got a mission for you. First, go find that nigga AJ and take care of him.” “What did he do?” “Just do it, don’t ask no questions, and you won’t be a soldier no more. I’m talking staff sergeant . . . You will have your own squad and everything.” “All right, but AJ at school right now.” “I don’t care if he’s in church, about to get baptized, you find that nigga AJ right now and take care of him,” Marlin said before hanging up.